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The Denali Institute for Rebellious and Troubled Teenagers

Chapter Five

Bella POV - Tuesday 9th August 2011

After passing out hard before nine o'clock the night prior, it was no great surprise when I found myself waking up just after six o'clock to the white noise of rain on the shutters.

I lay still for a few minutes, trying to actually take in the fact that I was truly in a boarding school on a literal mountain in Alaska. How my life had ended up here, I really didn't know. Well, I knew technically—Charlie, his ridiculous ideas about fixing me, and the whole my daughter needs professional help spiel. But I still couldn't believe it had actually come to this.

When I was finished with my profound moment of clarity, I decided to get up and explore a bit before the halls were packed with people and I looked like a weirdo walking around, staring at things.

I brushed my teeth and got dressed in a pair of black jeans, a blue long-sleeve shirt, and a plaid button-down over the top. The scabbed cuts from a day ago were still sensitive against the fabric, but it wasn't unbearable. I'd been debating whether or not to lift some kind of cutting implement—I'd spotted at least a dozen different options yesterday—but ultimately decided to keep a low profile for a while. That meant no risking getting busted for pocketing scissors, knives, or broken glass from class or the lunchroom. Which basically left me with paper and cardboard.

Not exactly satisfying.

I made my way down the hall from the girls dorm, to the kitchen that divided the corridor from the boys dorms. I turned into the opening when I reached it and immediately spotted Edward sitting at one of the small tables along the far left wall.

His eyes lifted to mine at that same moment, sweeping down and then back up as he looked me over. The corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest smirk, and for some reason, it made my face warm slightly.

"Hey, Bella."

There was something infuriatingly smooth about the way he said my name, like he was amused by something I wasn't aware of.

"Hey," I muttered back, dropping into the seat across from him without really thinking about it.

"You're up early," he noted, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world.

I shrugged, fiddling with the cuff of my sleeve. "Woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Figured I'd come see what hell looks like at dawn."

His smirk widened just a fraction. "And? Did it meet expectations?"

I exhaled through my nose. "Well I've only gotten this far, but... let's just say it's exactly what I imagined—only with worse interior decorating."

Edward let out a short, dry chuckle. He reached for his coffee cup, taking a slow sip before nodding toward the counter. "They have caffeine. Barely qualifies as coffee, but it's something."

That was probably the best news I'd heard since arriving. I glanced toward the counter where a metal urn sat next to a stack of mugs. It was almost comical how unenthusiastic the setup looked.

"You sure it's not decaf?" I asked warily.

"If it is, we riot."

That startled a real laugh out of me—brief, quiet, but real. I shook my head and got up, pouring myself a cup and adding way too much sugar before sitting back down.

"So," Edward started, watching as I stirred the sludge with my plastic spoon. "What's your deal?"

I raised a brow. "My deal?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Yeah. What got you sentenced to this charming institution?"

I stared at him for a beat, debating whether to lie or deflect. But I was too tired for either, and something about his expression—bored, but not uninterested—made me answer honestly.

"I don't eat," I said, taking a sip of coffee. "Well, I do. But not really. And sometimes I draw on myself... with sharp things... So, here I am."

He didn't react. No judgment, no awkward sympathy. Just nodded slightly like I'd told him I got caught skipping school or something equally mundane.

"Fair enough."

I hesitated, unsure whether to return the question. But the silence stretched just a second too long, so I did. "What about you?"

Edward smirked around the rim of his cup. "Drinking. Stealing. Smoking. Breaking and entering. Not going to school, or getting suspended when I do. Fighting. Sleeping around. Not necessarily in that order."

I huffed. "An overachiever."

"Obviously."

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The rain tapped against the windows, the low hum of the heater filled the quiet. It should've been awkward, but it wasn't.

I didn't really know what to make of Edward yet. He had that too-cool-to-care thing down to a science, but I got the feeling he saw more than he let on. He was used to looking through people, but right now, he was actually looking at me.

It was unnerving.

He smirked.

Fantastic.

Before I could think of anything else to say, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall. A second later, the fitst of the inmates—sorry, students—started trickling into the kitchen. Probably drawn by the scent of coffee.

Rosalie strode in first, looking half asleep but still perfect, followed by Emmett a minute later, who was stretching like he'd just rolled out of a coma. Lauren stomped in a few minutes after that, already complaining about something.

Edward sighed, watching them with mild amusement. "And the circus begins."

I let out a slow breath, preparing myself for the day.

Yep. Hell at dawn.

Rosalie POV

If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be sitting in a Spanish class halfway up a mountain in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, Alaska, I would have laughed in their face and thrown my drink at them.

Yet, here I was.

Denali was already wearing on me. The people were a mix of clinically unstable and mildly tolerable, and the security was too tight to pull any of my usual tricks for getting kicked out. The whole thing was a goddamn prison masquerading as a school.

And now I had to sit through a Spanish lesson with the rest of the first years, because apparently knowing how to ask where the nearest bathroom was in another language would fix me.

I strolled into the classroom ahead of Lauren and Leah, barely avoiding being hit in the face by the back of Emmett's head as he turned to talk to Edward. The classroom was a bit larger than I expected, with a chalkboard, of all things, stretching across one wall. The desks were set up in rows, the walls were lined with bookshelves and cheap motivational posters featuring phrases like "Un esfuerzo hoy, un éxito mañana"—which I was pretty sure translated to Suffer today, suck it up tomorrow.

A loud clap suddenly rang out from the front of the room, making me whip my head around.

And that was the first time I saw Aro.

The man stood at the front of the room with a dramatic air, his arms spread wide as if welcoming a grand audience. His hair was cropped short on the sides, a little longer on top, slicked back like he was about to audition for the role of a charming but definitely murderous cult leader. His skin was bone-pale, but his eyes were what really struck me—dark and sharp, a little too interested in us for my liking.

"¡Bienvenidos, mis pequeños rebeldes!" Aro declared, his voice rich with amusement. "I am your guide into the world of the Spanish language, your humble—yet extraordinarily gifted—professor, Aro!"

I glanced sideways at Edward, who was already rubbing his temples like he was getting a headache.

Aro swept toward the nearest desk, fingers twitching as he moved, his gaze bright and assessing as it flitted over each of us like we were an interesting puzzle he was deciding whether to solve or smash to pieces.

"You have all been blessed with a rare opportunity," he continued, clasping his hands together. "The ability to speak another language is like holding a key to another world—a world of poetry, of romance, of—" He paused, eyes gleaming. "Espionage!"

Lauren groaned under her breath, slumping into her seat. "Kill me now."

Aro turned sharply, as if he'd heard her from across the room, and suddenly his smile faded into something colder.

"Ah, but you see, Señorita Mallory," he said, voice silky but tinged with warning, "there are far worse fates than a Spanish lesson."

His smile didn't return immediately, and for a moment, I had the distinct feeling that Aro was evaluating whether he should let us in on whatever the fuck he meant by that.

Lauren clearly didn't care. She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, muttering, "Whatever."

And just like that, the tension snapped. Aro clapped his hands delightedly, his grin returning.

"¡Bueno! Now, let us begin!"

If Spanish was chaotic, math was pure suffering.

Not because I gave a shit about algebra, but because the vibe of the room was ice cold the moment we walked in.

The classroom was sterile, all sleek surfaces and barely any decoration. The bookshelves were neat to the point of being unnatural, and the blackboard had already been filled with a series of precise equations in flawless chalk handwriting before we even sat down.

Then, there was Caius.

Where Aro had flair and unpredictability, Caius was clipped, measured, and severe. He stood ramrod straight at the front of the room, his pale face set in a permanent mask of disapproval. His hair was longer than Aro's, tapering to the nape of his neck, but neatly arranged. Everything about him was sharp, from his cheekbones to the way his pale blue eyes swept over us like he was already disappointed in what he saw.

He did not greet us. He simply turned slowly, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote "Mathematics is not a democracy" on the board in precise, elegant letters.

Then, he turned back to us and said, "Sit. Now."

No one dared to test him.

Even Emmett, who usually had something stupid to say, pulled out a chair without comment.

Caius stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back. "I have no interest in whatever behavioral issues led you here. I am not your therapist. I am not your friend. My only concern is that you learn."

His voice was low, crisp, each word clipped to perfection, like he had no patience for inefficiency—or us.

"You will do as you are told," he continued, cold eyes scanning the room. "You will not waste my time. And if you do not understand something, you will think before you speak, because I will not tolerate stupidity."

Jesus. Even the military guys who dragged us here had more warmth than this man.

Edward, to my right, sighed under his breath. "Great. Another psychopath."

Caius' icy gaze snapped to him immediately.

"Masen, was it?" he said, voice like frost on glass.

Edward leaned back in his chair, bored expression barely shifting. "That's me."

Caius narrowed his eyes slightly. "I know your type."

Edward raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

Caius studied him for a moment, then exhaled shortly through his nose. "Undisciplined, arrogant, falsely intelligent."

I barely contained a smirk. If Edward had any real ego, it would have been bleeding out on the floor right now.

Instead, he just tilted his head. "Falsely intelligent? That's new. Most people just call me an asshole."

"That, too," Caius replied dryly, before pivoting back to the board like Edward no longer existed.

I grinned to myself, but it faded quickly when I saw the sheer insanity of the equations on the board.

Caius picked up a piece of chalk and, without looking at us, said, "Solve the first one. You have three minutes."

I barely had time to panic before he turned on a stopwatch.

What. The. Fuck.

Beside me, Edward was already working through the equation like this was some game he was determined to win. Emmett, on the other hand, was glaring at his paper like it had personally wronged him.

I stared at the problem. Then at the clock.

Then I decided that if I was going to die today, at least I was going down with good hair.

Alice POV

Carmen was still smiling as she moved gracefully across the front of the classroom, her white clothing bright against the splattered, paint-streaked surfaces around her. The walls were covered in old student work—some abstract, some disturbingly violent, others eerily empty. There was no clear standard for what was expected here, and that suited me just fine.

I kept my head low, my hands folded in my lap as she continued speaking, her voice smooth, melodic.

"Art is about expression," she continued, her hands floating through the air as she spoke, emphasizing each word like it was a performance. "It is not about being good. It is not about talent. It is about opening a window to the mind and seeing what spills out."

I kept my eyes on the chipped corner of the desk in front of me.

"Now, since this is your first lesson, we're starting easy. Today, I want you to draw something simple—a self-portrait."

A loud groan echoed from Emmett's direction.

"You have to be joking," Lauren sighed, flipping her hair back as she leaned against the desk like the whole thing personally offended her. "What if I don't want to draw myself?"

"Then draw how you feel," Carmen answered pleasantly. "That will tell us more anyway."

I heard the scratch of pencils as the others started working. The occasional scoff, the tapping of fingers against desks, shifting movements.

I reached for my pencil, feeling the familiar weight of it between my fingers. Self-portrait.

I could already see the others sketching in the vague outlines of faces, their reflections of themselves already taking shape. But I sat still, staring at the blank page.

I didn't want to draw my face.

Instead, I turned the pencil in my hand, pressed it lightly to the paper, and started shading in a small, black silhouette—a tiny figure, back turned, standing at the edge of something vast and unforgiving.

It grew from there, lines moving instinctively as my fingers worked. The silhouette remained small, but the world around it stretched and swallowed the page—a dark mass, a chasm, pulling outward in all directions.

The edges of the paper curled slightly under my touch as I added deeper shadows.

I barely noticed the movement until Carmen was suddenly at my shoulder.

Her presence was soft, but not unnoticed.

She didn't speak, didn't say my name, but I felt her watching.

Then, gently, she placed a new sheet of paper beside me. A fresh start. A chance to do it again.

I didn't take it.

Her fingers tapped the desk twice, barely a whisper of sound, before she moved away without a word.

I kept drawing.

The lesson continued around me. Voices rose and fell, conversations drifted in and out of focus. I kept my eyes down, my hands steady.

Someone's chair scraped back noisily.

"Shit," Jacob muttered. "I think I just made myself look like a serial killer."

Leah snorted. "Not far off."

There were laughs, some teasing, some exasperated. A few people finished early and sat back in their chairs, making comments about how they were done being introspective for the day.

But I wasn't finished.

I darkened the outline of the figure until it was nothing but a void on the page, a shape carved out from the weight of the ink around it. It wasn't a person. Not really.

It was just what was left behind.

The bell rang.

Carmen clapped her hands once, signaling the end of the lesson. "Alright, my little birds, you're free to go. But bring those emotions back with you next time, hmm?"

Chairs scraped against the floor as students started filing out, muttering about lunch or the next class. I set my pencil down carefully, staring at the image in front of me.

The blank page she had given me sat untouched beside it.

Without a word, I stood, closed my sketchbook, and walked out.

Lauren POV

I was starting to think this place wasn't completely a prison.

Sure, it was remote as hell, we were all basically inmate rejects from a psych ward, and the staff ranged from mildly unhinged to full-on terrifying, but at least they had good food.

Not school cafeteria food. Not mystery meat slop on a tray food. Actual, real food.

I grabbed my plate, eyeing the spread like I was planning an escape route. Baked chicken, some kind of fancy-looking roasted potatoes, vegetables that didn't look like they came from a can. There was even fresh bread, still warm, like some weird domestic fever dream.

"Enjoy it while you can," Edward muttered from behind me. "Esme's the one cooking today. If it's anyone else, you might not be so lucky."

I turned to look at him, raising a brow. "You get here yesterday, Masen, and suddenly you're a Denali veteran?"

He smirked slightly. "I'm a fast learner."

I scoffed but didn't argue. Instead, I grabbed extra potatoes—because fuck it, this was the best thing that had happened to me since I got here—and moved down the line toward the seating area.

The cafeteria was already filling up, but I wasn't about to sit at some random table and get stuck listening to Tyler and his creepy-ass doll for the next hour. I found an empty table near the window, set my tray down, and flipped my hair back as I scanned the room.

Leah and Jacob sat together—both looking about five seconds from throwing hands—while Emmett and Rosalie were already deep in whatever weird conversation they had going on. Edward had parked himself at the furthest possible table, looking appropriately broody, while Jasper just sat silently picking at his food like he was waiting for someone to start a fight so he could analyze it like a science experiment.

Alice, predictably, was nowhere near any of them.

I dug into my food, savoring the absolute godsend that was Esme's cooking.

This might actually be the one thing that made this hellhole bearable.

Five minutes in, the first fight broke out.

"Dude, I swear to God, if you say one more word—" Jacob's voice cut through the cafeteria, sharp and pissed off.

Leah's chair scraped back, matching his energy like a fucking hurricane rolling toward landfall. "Or what, Jake? You'll cry in your sleep? Again?"

The entire room went silent.

Jacob lunged before anyone had time to react, his chair crashing to the ground as he went for her. Leah dodged like she had been expecting it, but that only seemed to piss him off more.

"HEY!" Demetri's voice boomed from across the room before anyone could throw an actual punch. "Sit your asses down, or I'll do it for you!"

Demetri was already halfway across the room. He looked ready to tackle someone through a window if necessary.

Jacob, for a second, looked like he might actually test him. But then Demetri squared his shoulders, and Jake gritted his teeth, shoved his chair upright, and sat down hard.

Leah rolled her eyes but followed suit, flopping into her chair with a bored expression. "Whatever. He started it."

Demetri glared at them for a second longer before shaking his head and heading back toward his own meal, muttering something under his breath.

The cafeteria slowly returned to normal. Conversations picked up again. People started eating like that hadn't just happened.

I smirked and stabbed a potato with my fork.

This place was already shaping up to be way more entertaining than I thought.

Leah POV

I had just sat down with my plate when a shadow loomed over me.

"Leah," Kate said, voice cool but firm, like she already knew she was about to have a fight on her hands.

I barely held back a groan as I looked up. "What?"

"It's time for your session," she said, unmoved by my attitude, nodding toward the door. "Bring your plate. You can eat while we talk."

Great.

I grabbed my tray with way more force than necessary, ignoring the looks from Jacob and Rosalie as I stood. "Fine. Whatever."

Kate didn't say anything else. She just turned on her heel and started walking, clearly expecting me to follow.

I thought about ditching—just straight up walking the other way—but I knew they'd just drag me there eventually. The way the staff here operated, I doubted I'd even make it to the end of the hallway before Felix materialized out of thin air to haul my ass back.

So I followed, food in hand, down toward the teachers' wing where the offices were.

Kate's office was weirdly normal.

I don't know what I'd been expecting—some psychoanalysis torture chamber, maybe—but it was just an office. Bookshelves lined the walls, the desk was neat but actually lived-in, and there was one large office chair behind the desk, and an assortment of varied options on the nearer side. A wooden armchair. A green blow-up pool chair. A bean bag. What looked like a dog bed on the floor. An egg chair. And another office chair that wasn't as large as her own.

Kate sat behind the desk, nodding to the options. "Sit."

I dropped into the office chair, setting my plate down on the desk between us. "You gonna stare at me while I eat, or what?"

"You can eat," she said easily, crossing one leg over the other. "This session is about talking, not starving. I won't be staring at you."

I raised a brow but didn't argue, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork and popping it into my mouth.

Kate watched me for a second, then leaned back in her chair. "Alright, first things first—you know why you're here, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Wow, what a deep question. Yeah, I know. My mother thinks I need 'help' and shipped me off to reform school with the rest of the rejects."

Kate hummed, not reacting to the bite in my tone. "Do you think you need help?"

I scoffed. "No."

She tilted her head slightly, considering me. "Then why do you think your mother sent you here?"

"Because she's a controlling bitch," I said flatly, slicing into my potatoes with more force than necessary.

Kate didn't even blink. "Why do you think she's controlling?"

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "You serious? You think normal parents send their kids to a place like this because they aren't controlling?"

Kate didn't answer. She just waited, like she knew I'd keep talking if the silence stretched long enough.

I stabbed another bite of food but didn't eat it. "She thinks I'm… broken. That I'm angry all the time, or whatever."

"And are you?"

I huffed, shoving the food in my mouth to avoid answering immediately.

Kate let it slide, moving to her next question. "Tell me about your family."

I swallowed and leaned back in my chair, tapping my fork against my plate. "You already know. You people have files on us, don't you?"

"We do," Kate admitted. "But I want to hear it from you."

I let out another deep sigh, crossing my arms. "Fine. There's my mom, Sue. My little brother, Seth. My dad was in the picture up until a few years ago. He died. Heart attack."

Kate nodded, like she already knew but wanted me to say it anyway. "And how did that affect you?"

I felt my jaw tighten. "How do you think?"

"I'm not here to assume," she said calmly. "I'm here to listen."

I exhaled sharply, looking away. "I don't know. It sucked. Obviously. But I wasn't, like, curled up in a corner crying about it for months, if that's what you mean."

"Did your mother grieve the same way?"

I let out a harsh laugh. "No. She went full-on martyr mode. 'For the kids,' you know? Everything was about making sure Seth was okay, about keeping things together, about being so strong—" My voice sharpened before I could stop it.

Kate noticed.

I clenched my teeth. "She moved on. She acts like we're all supposed to be one big happy family, like nothing ever happened. And if I don't play along, I'm the bad guy."

Kate nodded slowly. "That sounds exhausting."

I glanced at her sharply, caught off guard by how… matter-of-fact she sounded. Not pitying, not lecturing. Just stating a fact.

I swallowed, looking back down at my plate. "Yeah. Well. It is."

Silence stretched again. I picked at my food, appetite already dwindling.

Then Kate shifted slightly, bringing out a notepad and pen from the side table.

"I'm going to ask you a few general questions," she said. "Just answer however you want. There's no right or wrong answer."

I sighed. "You people love your questions, huh?"

Kate smiled slightly. "It's kind of my job. Ready?"

I gestured vaguely, not giving her a yes, but not saying no either.

"Alright. What emotions do you feel most often?"

I snorted. "Anger. Next."

Kate didn't rush to the next one like I expected. Instead, she tapped her pen against the paper, watching me. "Is that all?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Is anger the only thing you feel? Or is it just the loudest?"

I hesitated, something tightening in my chest. The loudest.

But I didn't say that. I just shrugged, brushing it off.

Kate let the silence settle before moving on. "Do you consider yourself more impulsive or controlled?"

"Controlled," I said immediately.

Kate raised a brow. "Really?"

I glared at her. "What? You don't think I am?"

She didn't argue, just kept looking at me. I shifted in my seat.

Fine. Maybe sometimes I lost control. But only because people were fucking infuriating.

Kate jotted something down and kept going. "How do you usually react to people?"

"Depends on the person," I muttered.

"Alright. How do you usually react to being told what to do?"

I let out a short laugh. "Badly. Obviously."

Kate smiled knowingly but didn't comment.

"Okay," she said, finishing her notes. "Last one. What do you want?"

I blinked. "What?"

She leaned forward slightly. "What do you want, Leah? Not what your mother wants. Not what other people think you should want. Just you."

I opened my mouth—and nothing came out.

I stared at her, at the pen tapping gently against her notepad, at the way she wasn't looking at me like I was a problem to solve, or a mistake to be fixed.

And for a second, I didn't have a fucking clue how to answer.

The session ended a few minutes later, after I deflected hard and Kate let me go without pressing further.

She didn't lecture me. Didn't tell me what my mother thought. Just told me I had another session next week and walked me back to the main hall.

I stepped out, exhaling sharply as the door clicked shut behind me.

What did I want?

I had no fucking idea.

If you can spare a second to write a review and tell me if there's any point in me spending the time pulling this story out of my brain, I'd appreciate it.

As far as my own entertainment goes, the story is already complete in my mind.

So this is just about whether or not anyone else is keen to read it too.

Thanks!